Summary: A tale in which George accidentally makes a Muggle sprout feathers.
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter series belongs to J. K. Rowling.
The Corner Shop
Summer, 1994
i.
The summer sun is hot on George's neck. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he curses his beloved mother for making him go on yet another milk run.
He knows it's just a ploy to keep him away from Fred; the two were scheming all morning—excited to finally test their inventions on themselves—when Mum suddenly burst in like a vicious hurricane. One hand on his shoulder, she marched him downstairs and pushed him out into the sweltering heat. And George did as he was told because, as everyone knows, there's no arguing with Molly Weasley.
So, here he is, a wad of Muggle money in his pocket, walking down the well-worn path toward the village. A wooden sign pokes up from the field of grass, welcoming him into the cobblestone streets and neat, brick houses of Ottery St. Catchpole.
There's something so dastardly innocent about Muggle villages. To think that the people here are unaware of the magic around them is, to George, absolutely hilarious. They must lead such troublesome lives.
He reaches the meagre high street, lined by charity shops and restaurants. A scattering of people are out and about, enjoying the rare British sun.
Making his way through the thin crowd, George rounds a corner and walks down a smaller road until he arrives at his destination.
The local corner shop is a tiny, white-walled establishment, squashed between a takeout restaurant and a terrace house. A sign above the entrance reads: Ottery MiniMart. The window shows a grey interior of shelves stacked with groceries and essentials.
George walks in. A bell above the door rings.
A cashier is behind the counter, sitting on a stool. Her blonde hair is short and wavy. Chin propped on her hands, she glances at him and smiles: hello.
George returns the smile and makes for the milk section. He's been in the shop plenty of times before and he knows roughly where everything is. He's still highly disturbed by the newspaper rack, though; the immobile pictures of British politicians are unnerving to look at.
He settles for two litres of whole milk, knowing full well that his mother prefers semi-skimmed. What goes around comes around. He brings the cartons to the cashier.
The girl scans his items, but her gooseberry eyes are looking at him curiously. After staring at the booze shelf behind her for a while, George finally notices and raises an eyebrow: what's up?
"You're a Weasley, aren't you?" she asks.
"Um, yeah."
"One of the twins?"
"Uh, yep."
"And you live over the fields?"
"Okay, this is getting weird."
The girl chuckles. "Relax. I know your dad. He was here last week."
Merlin's beard, help me, George groans inwardly. "Let me guess, he's been harassing you."
At this, she laughs full-heartedly. "I mean, did you guys forget to teach him about technology or what? I can't turn on the TV without him asking all sorts of questions."
"Typical Dad, embarrassing the living daylight out of me, and he's not even here! Such talent."
"He's nice, I like him." She hands a plastic bag with his shopping across the counter. "That'll be one quid eighty, please."
Taking the bag, George blinks, puzzled. "Err…" What the bloody hell is a 'quid'?!
She's staring at him expectantly, waiting and starting to look confused that he's taking so long. Thinking fast, George's eyes glance down at the register, showing the price.
"Oh, right," he says hastily, reaching into his pocket for a five pound note and handing it over.
"Thank you." With a loud cha-ching, she rummages around for his change then drops the little coins into his palm. He's halfway out the door, the bell above him ringing again, when she calls out.
"You aren't from around here, are you?"
George pauses. "Like Dad said, we live outside of town."
"I know. But, like, is your family from abroad or something?"
"You ask too many questions."
She brings a hand to her face. "You're right, sorry." Looking back up, she offers him an apologetic smile. "I'm Florence, nosy Florence."
"I'm George, slightly-scared-and-freaked-out George."
"Nice to meet you, freaked-out George." She's perched on her stool again, her chin settling back into her hands. "Come back soon."
"Only if you stop with the interrogation."
"I will, I promise."
ii.
Four days later, she breaks her promise.
George is getting some fruit when Florence sneaks up next to him. It's another hot day, and she's dressed in a pair of dungaree shorts and a red tee.
"Don't you have a job to do?" George asks, bemused.
"I'll run back when the bell rings," she replies, shrugging. She watches him squeezing some apples (thankfully she's missed out on his inappropriate banana handling) before opening her mouth again: "So, what school do you go to?"
"I thought we agreed-"
"I know, I know, I can't help it," Florence sighs. "It's just, I dunno."
"What?"
"It's nice to have someone to talk to. And your family is so interesting."
"Oh? And why's that?" George asks, suddenly apprehensive.
"Well, your dad was in the middle of paying me when a big fat gold coin fell out of his pocket." Florence's eyes are alight with the memory. "He didn't seem to wanna say what it was. Any guesses?"
"Uh, he collects antiques."
"Wow, do you help him out?"
"Listen, I don't mean to be rude," George interrupts, steering the conversation out of dangerous waters, "but where did you suddenly come from? I've never seen you in here."
"My dad owns the place. Since I'm nearly sixteen now he let me take charge this summer." She follows him around the shop, stopping when he ponders over the snack aisle.
"When's your birthday?"
"July 28th."
"That's soon, isn't it?"
"Mhm. About two weeks."
"Well, Happy Early Birthday!" He takes a card off the rack behind him and holds it out. "From yours truly."
A dimpled grin spreads across her face as she bats his hand away. "Clever."
"What're you getting for your birthday?"
"I dunno."
"I'm sure your folks have a nice surprise waiting for you." They walk towards the front together. "New car? Fancy jewellery?"
"More like revision guides and new stationary," she laughs, slipping under the counter and popping up on the other side.
"That's a bummer." He shoves his hands in his pockets as she scans the bag of apples and a chocolate bar, the machine giving a shrill beep each time.
"Mhm. I mean, my dad's a shopkeeper and my step-mum's a librarian," she says casually. "What can you expect?"
"Yeah, I know what you mean."
She meets his eyes briefly before glancing away, punching some buttons on the register. "One-seventy, please."
He hands over the coins and takes his things. "Thanks, see ya."
"See ya."
iii.
"Dad, a word."
Arthur Weasley glances up from the Daily Prophet. "What's the matter?"
"Next time you're out buying stuff, please—in the name of Merlin's baggiest overalls—stop acting weird."
"Don't talk to your father like that," his mother calls from the kitchen.
"I'm serious! That girl at the shop? She won't stop bugging me, and it's all because of you!"
His dad at least has the sense to look ashamed, but he recovers quickly. "George, you know I find it fascinating talking to Muggles! And she's such a patient young lady. Just the other week, she was explaining how there are actually different channels on the tellyfission. Isn't that incredible?"
George can't help but roll his eyes. "You know you sound like a nutter when you talk like that, right?"
"George!"
"Okay, okay!" Clearly he's not going to be able to lecture his dad with his mother hovering in the vicinity. Accepting defeat, George trudges out into the backyard, where Fred and Ginny are having a gnome-throwing contest.
"Did you tell him?" Ginny asks as her gnome flies through the air, squeaking like mad.
"I tried, but you know what Dad's like," George sighs. "The words went straight over his head."
"Good ol' Dad, putting the Statute of Secrecy at risk," Fred says in an approving voice. He picks up the nearest gnome and chucks it as far as he can over the hedge.
"Hey, cut him some slack," Ginny remarks, hitting him on the arm. "Let Dad do his thing."
"Even if he puts the rest of us to shame?"
Ginny rolls her eyes and ignores the question. "I'm gonna get a drink." She skips up the stairs and into the kitchen, leaving the twins in the backyard.
"You think I should get her something?"
"What?" Fred turns away from the remaining retreating gnomes and looks at him.
"The village girl. Her birthday's coming up."
Fred smirks knowingly, and immediately nudges George in the rib. "And you thought you'd treat her to a lil' Weasley charm, ay?"
"Piss off," George laughs, shoving him away. "I feel like I oughta. Can't hurt to befriend a local Muggle."
"Oh, Georgie," Fred coos, brown eyes gleeful. "So naïve. Or dishonest. Or both."
George swings a punch at his twin playfully. "Watch your mouth."
Fred dodges easily, but his mind is already on other matters. "Com'on," he says, sneaking a glance behind him, "let's go upstairs. Those Ton-Tongue Toffees aren't gonna make themselves."
iv.
George stares down at the blank card in his hand, wondering what on earth he should write. He's realising now that this impromptu decision is rather silly and fruitless. Maybe he should just forget about it.
"Honey, what're you doing?"
His mother pokes her head into his room, looking suspicious.
"Relax, Mum, Fred and I aren't plotting."
"Oh! Is this for the Muggle girl?" she asks, her eyes landing on the card, and suddenly she's all simpering and motherly again. A Metamorphagus in action, he thinks to himself, not sure whether to be impressed or terrified.
"Yeah, I dunno what to write though. I don't really know her."
"All the more reason to do the shopping more often!" she exclaims, and George knows he's fallen into her trap. "Then you'll really make a friend out of her."
And you won't have time to chat with your brother, he finishes for her. "Have you actually met her, Mum?"
"No, but I've met her father. He seems like a friendly enough chap. And, between you and me, your father and I are more than happy for any of you boys to date someone from the Muggle-"
"Mum, get out!"
v.
A week later, and George finds himself heading back to the corner shop, holding a packet of custard creams and a card. Before he left the house that day, Fred pressed the biscuits onto him, saying it would make a great gift; Dad bought them from Diagon Alley, and the custard creams have tiny engravings of famous witches and wizards.
However, when George finally arrives at the store, Florence isn't there. A man stands behind the counter instead, and the resemblance is as clear as day; the hazel green eyes, the thin lips, the curl of the ears.
George walks in. Ding.
"Hi, is Florence around?"
Florence's father looks up and sees the gift in George's hand. "G'day, mate! A friend of our girl, are ya?"
"Yep," George replies, without thinking.
"Schoolmates?"
"Yep." Why does everyone in this family ask so many damn questions.
"Splendid. Absolutely splendid. I can take those for her if y'like," her father says, holding his hands out, but then he pauses. "Unless you wanna deliver it yerself?"
"If that's okay."
"No problemo. She's at home right now. D'you know the way?"
George shakes his head, and the middle-aged man proceeds to give him directions. Even so, it takes him a good fifteen minutes before he arrives. George finds himself standing in front of a narrow terrace house made of red bricks and white window frames; droopy plants hang over the windowsill whilst plump little bushes line the path to the front door. A faded blue car is parked to one side. And, suddenly, George is a little apprehensive; he's never stepped foot into a Muggle's house before, and certainly not on his own.
But, he's a Gryffindor, so he swallows his doubts and walks forward to ring the doorbell. A few minutes pass, and the bright red door is flung open, revealing a completely surprised and dishevelled Florence.
"George!"
Without a word, George takes out a party horn from his pocket and blows it hard, making her jump. "I thought you'd be at the shop, but I guess your old man gave you the day off." He hands her the packet of custard creams and her card. "Happy Birthday, nosy cashier girl!"
"Wow, I wasn't expecting this," Florence laughs in disbelief. "I mean, God, I'm still in my pj's."
She is indeed, dressed in a baggy t-shirt and lounge shorts. After another weak shake of the head, she looks down at her gift. "Thank you so much! You really didn't have to."
"Not a problem. What're you up to today?"
"Well, not much, really. I think my dad and Claudia are taking me out for dinner." She smiles and steps to one side. "Wanna come in? Keep the lonely birthday girl some company?"
"With pleasure." He crosses the threshold (past the point of no return, he gulps) and follows her into a messily cosy living room. They sit side-by-side on the fat double-seater sofa, and George looks around. He notices there are a lot of wires snaking along the floor. How do Muggles live like this?
"I really like the card," she pipes up, after reading his scrawled handwriting. She then inspects the biscuits. "Are those wizards?"
"Yep."
"Did you get these from Disneyland?"
"Sure," he replies, having absolutely no clue what she's just said.
Unwrapping the clear packaging, Florence eats a biscuit cheerfully. "Mmm. So, George Weasley," she says, settling back into the cushions, "tell me about yourself. Convince me that letting a near-stranger into my living room without a chaperone was a good idea."
George chuckles. "Isn't your mum home?"
"Step-mum," she corrects, scratching her arm absentmindedly. "And nah, she's still working,"
"Cool. Well, I'm sixteen too, welcome to the party. I, er, go to a boarding school."
"Any subjects you're particularly interested in?"
"Not really, but let's just say I like to pull a good prank."
Florence laughs as she itches her elbow. "Ahh, a class clown. Got it. I'm staying away from the likes of you from now on."
"Funny. How 'bout you?"
"What do you mean?"
"Got any tricks up those sleeves of yours?"
"Well, I like to draw. Portraits, mostly, I just really like sketching faces, especially the eyes. Can't seem to get anything right once I go past the shoulders, though." She scratches her arms more fervently.
"I see…"
"I'd show you some, but you probably aren't-"
"Are you okay?" he interrupts, unable to stop himself.
"What? Oh, yeah, just itchy. I think you let the gnats in." Her fingernails are scraping her arms uncontrollably now. "Anyway, what was I saying? Oh right, yeah, I normally use references from-"
And that's when it happens. Before she can finish, large yellow feathers suddenly sprout all over her, covering her arms, her legs, even her face. George can only gape at her, momentarily speechless. She looks as if she's wearing a badly made bird costume, feathers poking out at odd angles, and he is caught somewhere between laughing and slapping himself, hard.
It takes Florence a while to realise what's happened. At the look on his face, she glances down, and her eyes widen in shock.
"Oh my God."
Hands shaking slightly, she turns her arms this way and that, staring at the feathers now protruding from her skin. They wave gently as her arm moves, innocent and fluffy, and, for the briefest moment, George suddenly has the bizarre desire to pluck her.
"Okay, relax," he tells her, standing up and holding his hands out, as though trying to calm a wild gazelle about to flee. "Don't freak out, okay? Everything's fine."
Florence catches her reflection in the mirror and screams.
vi.
George climbs the stairs up to his bedroom. He finds his dear brother sitting on the bed with his back against the wall. At his entrance, Fred looks up and an ear-splitting grin appears on his freckled face.
"Was it good?" the older twin asks excitedly, bouncing onto his knees.
"Oh sure, it was hilarious. Absolutely hilarious."
Fred lets out a wailing laugh. "Canary Creams! I've been dying to make one. Did it work?"
"Sort of? She grew a bunch of feathers, and thank Merlin she moulted after a bit. But honestly, Fred," George continues angrily at his renewed chortling, "what were you thinking?! She's a Muggle!"
"Com'on," Fred says reasonably, "it was just a joke! No harm done!"
Exasperated, George gives him a good whack on the head and walks out, slamming the door shut.
vii.
Florence doesn't show up at the store for the rest of the week. George visits her house instead, but each time he does, her parents tell him that she's busy or asleep or simply doesn't want to see him.
So he writes a letter, apologising for the horrific incident and promising to explain everything if she'll just meet him. A part of him wonders if he can pull off a Memory Charm when (or if) they finally meet, but he hastily stops that train of thought from leaving the station.
Letter finished, George goes to coax Errol down from the roof. The ancient owl flies down and perches precariously on one leg, allowing him to tie the letter to his talon.
"Who're you writing to?" Ginny asks, wandering over curiously.
"The Muggle girl."
Ginny snickers; Fred told her about the events of her birthday. "I don't think that's a good idea."
"And why's that, smartypants?"
"Don't you think she'll be even more freaked out with Errol crashing into her window?"
George pauses. "You've got a point there." He unties the letter and tears it apart so aggressively that it causes Errol to screech and fly away in terror.
viii.
At last, he manages to confront her when she returns to work a couple days later.
Florence is serving another customer when George slips in. Ding. Her eyes flicker over and she glares at him. "That'll be five pound twenty, please," she says rather forcibly to the old lady buying grapes.
George clears his throat and loiters by the magazine rack, feeling the intensity of her gaze boring into the back of his head as they wait for the old lady to hobble out the door. There's another ding, signalling that they're alone. Florence ducks through the counter and rounds on him; they open their mouths at the same time.
"Explain!"
"I'm sorry!"
"No, honestly, explain! What the hell did you do to me?!"
"It was my twin!" he cries. "He messed with the custard creams."
"Yeah, I gathered you put something in it." She puts her head in her hands. "I mean, Jesus, I thought I was on an acid trip or something. At least it might explain what I saw, and yet I'm still finding feathers under the couch so obviously it wasn't a hallucination, was it?"
"I know, just…you didn't tell anyone, did you?"
"Of course not!" she retorts impatiently. "D'you think people would believe me if I told them I grew feathers?!"
"Okay, okay, let's go somewhere, all right? Let's find somewhere nice and quiet, and I'll answer all your questions."
Florence's nose twitches. She looks at him indecisively for a while longer before sighing in defeat.
"I get off work at five."
ix.
They sit on the swings, the park slowly emptying around them, George talking non-stop for a long time. He talks about wands, Hogwarts, and anything else he can think of to help explain the magical world, his world. When he finally finishes, they're the only ones left in the park. Although it's still light outside, the sun has already dipped below the horizon, and the clouds are beginning to look pink and purple.
"…so, yeah. I'm a wizard. That custard cream was charmed to turn you into a canary. I know it was a nasty birthday surprise, but I didn't mean it. Honest."
Swinging gently, Florence stares at the trees, her expression surprisingly blank. George waits for a response, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, afraid that he might've actually broken her grasp on reality. Oh boy.
After a lengthy moment, she finally turns her eyes on his. "Wow."
George smirks. She hits him, but she's laughing.
"No! Like, seriously, wow!" she exclaims, hugging her sides, chortling. "That was honestly the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard!"
"What?! Com'on, I've been telling you the truth! Wait, look." And he reaches into his pocket, taking out a photo of his family. "Look! Just quit laughing for a sec and look!"
She glances down, and immediately shuts up, prompting a triumphant smirk from her companion. "Whoa. Is this some kind of magic trick?" she says slowly, taking the photograph and turning it upside down; his family gesture frantically at the change in gravity, their mouths opening soundlessly: stop, stop!
"Trick? No. Magic?" George's brown eyes twinkle mischievously, "Why, certainly."
x.
In the end, Florence decides to believe him.
Over the course of the next two weeks, George uses a fair portion of his time to sneak magical items out of the house to show her. Some of her favourite possessions of his include a pack of Exploding Snap (they spend a long time playing in the park, careful to shoo away any nearby children), a terrified chess piece that thinks he's being kidnapped, and a fake wand that turns into a rubber chicken when Florence gives it a wave.
In return, she teaches him bits and bobs about the Muggle world. George finally knows where and what Disneyland is, and is slowly accumulating a small grasp of Muggle celebrities. One day, she shows him her CD player, putting an odd-looking bud into his ear and startling him with songs by groups called 'The Beatles', 'Pink Floyd' and other ridiculous-sounding names.
And then, before he knows it, the Quidditch World Cup is just a few days away.
"Remind me again who's playing?"
The two are sitting on a bench in the afternoon sun; Florence's legs are crossed. "Ireland and Bulgaria," George replies.
"And you're supporting Ireland?"
"That's right. I can't wait, it's gonna be such a crazy game."
"I still don't understand how Quidditch works," Florence says with a frown.
"Don't worry, I'll teach you next time we're on break. I'll bring my Cleansweep and show you the ropes."
"So you're heading straight to Hogwarts, then, after this World Cup?"
"Yep. It's gonna be a busy few days, I don't think I'll have time to come over."
Florence looks a little disappointed. "And here I was thinking I'd get another week of Weasley's Magical Lessons before term starts."
"Hey, cheer up!" George says, reaching over and pinching her cheek. "I'll be back for Christmas before you know it."
She smacks his hands away. "It's gonna be so weird with you gone. This still feels like a dream sometimes."
"I'll write then, to remind you that I am, indeed, a real person. Only if you don't mind owls flying smack into your window, that is."
"I don't mind, I love animals. So, pen pals?"
"Deal."
They both get up, Florence stretching her arms over her head after her day at work. A horde of young children run past them, heading back home for supper, followed urgently by a bustling group of parents.
"Have a good term, Florence," George says, offering his hand.
She takes his hand and shakes it firmly, a fond smile on her face. "Call me Flo. And you too, Mr. Weasley. Don't get into too much trouble."
Author's note: And that's the first chapter! Hope you enjoyed it, please leave a review or fave and have a lovely day :)